


Blood of My Blood

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Curtain Fic, Domesticity, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Sibling Incest, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: Sam may have a plan to deal with Chuck. One tiny problem: said plan possibly involves putting Sam in danger.Dean, he thinks, is probably not going to be thrilled about this.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 42
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

Sam comes across the spell while poking around in one of the less-used shelves of the bunker’s library. It’s some kind of transference spell, right in the middle of a thick book about the origins of voodoo, and he only sees it because the book falls off the shelf open to that page while he’s rearranging some of the other dusty volumes.

The significance of it doesn’t hit him right then: he just glances at the spell, thinks, _huh_ , then files the book back in one of the ‘interesting-but-not-really-relevant-right-now’ lower shelves.

He and Dean have been taking a few days off after the events with Lilith; they’re both exhausted and more than a little demoralized, and Sam, at least, is grateful for the downtime. Sam’s painfully aware that Dean’s been in a funk since this last setback, and he’s been doing everything he can to cheer his brother up without being _too_ obvious about it.

Dean, as is his wont when he’s feeling down, has retreated into himself much like a hedgehog curling into a defensive little ball; Sam’s started to think of Project Cheer Dean Up as gently petting Dean’s spines until his brother uncurls himself again. They’ve just been hanging out, mostly, doing routine tasks like washing the Impala and cleaning the weapons, and Sam has to admit that the familiarity of the chores have been soothing for him as much as for Dean.

It’s only a couple of days later, when he’s in the kitchen in the middle of scarfing down a home-cooked dinner with Dean (he’d helped to peel the potatoes and chop the beef for the stew; Dean had done everything else) that Sam realizes the potential significance of the spell he’d seen in the library. His mouth falls open, and he’s barely aware of his brother's surprised frown as he drops his spoon and hurries back to the library.

He’s only peripherally aware of Dean’s startled, “Sam? What is it? Sammy!” as his brother trails behind him, hovering worriedly over his shoulder as he crouches on the floor to dig the voodoo spellbook out of the bottom shelf he’d tucked it into and flips frantically through it looking for the spell.

“Seriously, a book?” Dean grumbles. “My beef stew not good enough for you, Sam?”

“I helped make it,” Sam protests distractedly, finger trailing down the page as he searches for the spell.

Dean sighs, sounding put-upon. “Fine,” he says. “ _our_ beef stew. Now, what the hell’re you lookin’ for?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away, eyes darting over the lines of the spell that he finally finds near the bottom of the page. He’d been right when he’d thought he remembered it being a transference spell: the caster would act as a channel, or a kind of conduit, through which a spell could be cast on a third party; if done correctly, the person acting as the conduit wouldn’t be affected by the spell.

According to the book, there are two parts to the spell: Sam gathers that what he’s looking at is the second part of the spell. The first part of the spell establishes a link between the target and the conduit through some kind of blood magic. It seems fairly straightforward, only requiring the blood of both parties and an incantation that’s long but not particularly complicated. Sam gives the blood magic spell only a cursory glance, then returns his attention to the transference spell.

Frowning, he lowers the book to rest in his lap, pondering the implications. The dreams – visions, he supposes – he’s been having seem to be incontrovertible proof that Chuck and him are somehow linked. So, if Sam can act as a conduit for a spell they can cast on Chuck, then…then, if they can find the right spell, there might be a chance –

“Sam,” Dean says impatiently. Sam starts and glances over at his brother, who’s crouched on the floor beside him. The look on Dean’s face clearly indicates that he’s been trying to get Sam’s attention for a while.

“Uh, sorry, what?” Sam says.

Dean shakes his head, the purse of his full lips half-exasperated and half-fond. “What’dya find?”

“I – ” Sam hesitates and glances down at the page again, unwilling to get his brother’s hopes up if his idea turns out to be a dud. “I’m not sure yet. It might be nothing, but…well, it – it’s more than we had before.” He turns to look at Dean. “Let me do a bit more research, ‘kay? Promise I’ll explain once I have a bit more information.”

Dean holds Sam’s gaze for a long moment, then nods. “You gotta do one thing for me, though,” he says firmly.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“You gotta promise me you aren’t gonna get any bright ideas about running off and doing something without me,” Dean says sternly.

“I won’t,” Sam says immediately. “You know I won’t.”

Dean shrugs. “Just had to make sure,” he says, then grins and claps Sam on the shoulder. His hand is warm through the thin T-shirt Sam’s wearing, and Sam can’t help but lean into Dean’s grip just a little bit, because he’s never been able to resist being drawn into his big brother’s orbit. “Alright, Sammy. You tell me about it when you’re ready.”

Dean gets to his feet, brushing dust off his jeans. “You want the rest of the beef stew you left behind?” he asks offhandedly. “I’ll bring it to our – uh,” he coughs and quickly corrects himself, “ _your_ room.”

“Oh.” Sam ducks his head to hide the heat he can feel flooding his cheeks at Dean’s verbal stumble, not daring to look up at his brother’s expression. They’ve gradually been spending more and more time in each other’s rooms the last few months, watching movies or talking, and sometimes Dean just hangs out in Sam’s room while Sam’s doing research – and since Dean occasionally falls asleep in Sam’s room and wakes up with a crick in his neck, Sam’s recently added an extra pillow to his bed. Just to make sure Dean’s comfortable, not because he’s…hoping, or anything.

And ever since Sam’s confession about his bad dreams – _visions_ , he has to remember that they’re visions, not just dreams – to Dean, Dean’s pretty much moved into his room. Sam has to admit that it’s helped tremendously, waking up shaking like a leaf from yet another gruesome scene where he kills Dean or vice versa, and being able to reach for his brother, just an arm’s length away in the same bed, run his hands over Dean’s skin, smooth and unbroken, reassure himself that Dean’s alive and _here_.

Dean’s room, bed not slept in for a few weeks now, has morphed into a workroom of sorts and he usually has their weapons spread out over the sheets, cleaning or cataloging them. Dean’s shirts have slowly migrated into Sam’s room, too, draped over the chairs or hanging on the hooks on the wall. Sam makes a mental note to clear some space in his closet for Dean.

They’ve never actually…. _talked_ about this whole thing, though.

Dean clears his throat loudly, jolting Sam back to the present. “I’ll go get the food,” he mutters.

Sam licks his lips nervously, still not daring to look up from his book. “I’ll, um, see you in our room,” he ventures, and holds his breath.

Dean grunts in assent, but doesn’t contradict Sam. His boots squeak as he turns to head back to the kitchen.

Sam smiles to himself. He gets to his feet, spellbook in hand, and heads back to his - no, _their_ bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Sam settles down in the bunker’s war room and starts work on the nitty-gritty of what needs to be done. The first thing he needs to find out is whether the link between him and Chuck, whatever it is, would even be considered by the spell to be equivalent to a blood link. And if it is, he still needs to find a spell they can send through the link, something that would be powerful enough to kill Chuck.

Sam taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully. They most obvious asset they have is the gun, even if it’s not actually a gun anymore. He sighs, thinking of the melted puddle of metal Lilith had left them with. They’d scraped up the cooled metal and left it in the trunk of the Impala, more out of precaution than any desire to actually keep the scrap metal with them.

And now, Sam’s banking on the remains of the gun still having the intrinsic power they’ll need to use against Chuck. He’d never even have thought of using it, if not for something Rowena had mentioned – the thought of her sends a pang through him – back when she’d been teaching him magic. About _form_ , in spellwork, being less essential than _function_ , and god he really hopes it holds true in this case.

Through all of Sam’s research, Dean’s never far away. He cooks their meals, drags Sam back to their room to get some sleep if he stays up too late in the library researching, and is always right there next to Sam, solid and warm and _alive_ , when Sam wakes up in the middle of the night gasping and trembling from yet another vision of him and Dean murdering each other in increasingly brutal and creative ways.

They venture out of the bunker a few times to collect the herbs and other ingredients that Sam needs to prepare the spells, and, at Sam’s prodding, Dean reluctantly accompanies him to work the occasional case as well. Dean seems to be doing better now, but it still makes Sam hate Chuck a little more every day, thinking about how dispirited Dean was right after Lilith. They desperately need a win, the both of them; for his brother’s sake, Sam’s more determined than ever to make his idea work.

And the thing is, things might not be going so hot for them right now with Chuck determined to ruin their lives, but all Sam’s stupid body cares about is that every night, he’s lying in bed next to the man he’s been desperately in love with for over a decade.

So it’s pretty much inevitable that one night when he wakes up with a shocked gasp, his heart thundering in his chest and Dean leaning over him worriedly, it’s not the image of his brother’s blood on his hands that’s the last thing he sees before he wakes, but rather the smooth golden skin of Dean’s naked body, his head thrown back as he groans in ecstasy, broad fingers tangling in Sam’s hair as Sam goes to his knees and closes his lips around Dean’s cock –

Now wide awake, Sam stares dazedly up at the ceiling, unable to do anything more than pant for breath. God, his mouth is still _watering_ , and he’s hard enough to pound nails and leaking precome into his loose sweats. Still leaning over him, Dean runs a soothing hand over his arm and Sam can’t help his reflexive shiver at the touch, goosebumps raising all the hairs on his arm.

“It was a bad one?” Dean asks.

“Uh,” Sam says intelligently.

“The vision,” Dean clarifies.

“Um. N-no,” Sam mumbles, grateful for the near-pitch darkness of the room so Dean can’t see the expression on his face, because he’s pretty sure that whatever he looks like right now, it’s not exactly the look of a man who just dreamt about brutally murdering the person he loves most in the world. “It. Um. Wasn’t as bad as some of the others.”

He hurriedly draws his knees up to hide the tent over his crotch – thankfully, Dean’s focused on Sam’s face rather than any other part of him – because Sam really, really doesn’t want to have to explain to Dean that this wasn’t exactly a vision.

Or – even worse, Dean might think that Sam’s having vision-related _boners_ , which is just – _no_. Jesus. Sam’s life sucks sometimes.

“Yeah?” Dean says, sounding doubtful.

“Yeah,” Sam rasps, but lets Dean tug him closer. He turns on his side to face away from Dean to avoid his boner making itself known to his brother, but scoots backward to fit himself against Dean’s side so that Dean doesn’t think he’s being rejected.

And yeah, the one disadvantage about them sharing a room is that now Sam can’t get up to take care of his… _problem_ without Dean knowing about it, but on the other hand he gets to have _this_ , Dean’s arm thrown carelessly over Sam’s side, his breath ghosting over the fine hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck as he tucks himself carefully around Sam.

Sam breathes deep, letting his body calm down, and falls asleep to the sound of Dean’s soft, even breaths.

***

Despite the whole situation with Chuck, things are…good, almost. There’s been no sign of Chuck recently, leaving Sam free to concentrate on his research. Some days, Sam can even almost forget the threat hanging over him and Dean, as he slowly makes progress on building a viable combination of spellwork that can achieve the end he wants.

Dean putters around the bunker and reluctantly helps with the research Sam delegates him; he seems to be doing better too, with something to distract him, even if he complains loudly about being made to look at spellbooks all day. At the very least, it gives them both something to hope for, something to work toward.

Eventually, Sam manages to put together a combination of spells that he thinks – _hopes_ – will work. He’s found a spell to harness the intrinsic power of a magical object which, if he casts on the remains of the gun, he’s fairly sure will be able to harness the same power which initially allowed him to hurt Chuck.

The next day, Sam goes to the Impala and opens the trunk to look for one of their knives that he thought he might’ve left in there, since Dean’s insisting on using their downtime to catalogue every single one of their weapons. While he’s poking around in the trunk, his gaze falls on the chunk of scrap metal that’s all they have left of the gun they used on Chuck, and, thoughts of the knife momentarily falling away, he stares at it for a long moment, lost in thought.

Some days, he really misses Rowena terribly. They’d understood each other, he thinks, and, more than that, he knows he’d feel much more confident about this plan if she were here, helping him and Dean. Now all he’s left with is whatever Rowena taught him, and the sneaking suspicion that if he screws this up and ends up back in Hell, Rowena will definitely find him there and kick his ass.

 _Can you boys do nothing on your own,_ Rowena’d teased when they’d brought her in to help, and that memory of her can’t help but make Sam laugh through the lump in his throat. “You have no idea,” he murmurs.

“Found that knife?” Dean’s voice makes Sam jump – he’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard his brother coming out of the bunker. Dean comes right up to him, then frowns in concern, eyes searching Sam’s face thoughtfully. “You okay, Sammy?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.” Sam clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“’kay,” Dean says, sounding slightly doubtful. He points up at the cloudy gray sky above them. “Well, better get that big brain of yours indoors before you get rained on.”

“Right,” Sam says. He swipes a hand over his face, then leans back into the Impala’s trunk to fish out the knife Dean’d sent him to get.

“I made lunch,” Dean calls over his shoulder as he walks back toward the bunker, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. He turns as Sam looks up from the trunk, walking backward so that Sam can see the grin on Dean’s face. “Veggie bacon, just for you, Sammy.”

Sam gives his brother his best disbelieving look. “That’s not going to work on me _twice_ , Dean.”

“Nah, it’s seriously veggie bacon this time,” Dean promises cheerfully as he reaches the bunker door. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout!” Sam calls after him, but Dean’s already disappeared into the bunker, and Sam can’t help but smile, helplessly fond.

 _This spell,_ he thinks, _we’ll make it work. We’ll finally be free._


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, Sam already knows Dean isn’t going to be happy with his plan. Sam’s going to be putting his own life on the line with no way of testing whether the combination of spells he’s cobbled together will even work: any test he attempts on the link between himself and Chuck carries with it the danger of warning Chuck about what they’re planning.

According to the research Sam’s done, there’s an infinitesimally tiny chance that he’ll be able to pull himself out of the spell once he’s begun, if he realizes it’s not transferring to Chuck through the link between them. However, the reality of it is that he’s going to have to put so much of himself into casting the spell that the much more likely outcome is that if the transference spell fails, he’ll die before he can stop the spell.

So – it’s got to be all or nothing. But this is the only option they have, and he and Dean are both exhausted from fighting. Sam thinks it’ll be worth the risk.

He already knows, even without asking Dean, that his brother isn’t going to agree with that assessment.

He half-considers not telling Dean about the full plan, but discards that thought almost immediately. They’re in a good place, him and Dean: they’ve finally learnt, slowly, to be more open, more honest with each other. Sam refuses to be the one to break that hard-won trust between them – it’s taken him years to get Dean to realize, to _believe_ how much he means to Sam; lying to him now, after all they’ve been through – Sam’s not going to do that to him.

And if – if things go pear-shaped and Sam doesn’t survive this…he doesn’t want Dean’s last memory of him to be of Sam lying to him.

***

After some deliberation, Sam decides that the best way to get Dean on board with his plan is to ease him into it – butter Dean up a little, get him in a good mood, then tell him about the spell and…yeah, no chance that Dean’s _not_ going to flip out about it, but. Well. Sam’ll give it his best shot.

Dean’s not difficult to please. Sam knows this. Give his brother a few beers, a good burger, a pretty girl or two (or three) to flirt with, and Sam safe and directly in his line of sight, and Dean’s a happy man.

Given that Sam has spent the last few years discreetly doing his best to cockblock his brother at every opportunity – for reasons he _absolutely refuses to think about_ – he’s not going to be throwing any girls at Dean in the foreseeable future, but the rest of it? That, he can do.

He waits till Dean’s out picking up some groceries, then hurries into town to pick up burgers and fries from Dean’s favorite restaurant and a blueberry pie from the bakery next door. On the way back to the bunker, he grabs a couple of six-packs of beers.

Back at the bunker, he lays all the food out on the kitchen table, then goes to the bedroom, boots up his laptop and rents _I Know What You Did Last Summer_. He heads back to the kitchen, rearranges the beers, then hovers indecisively over the kitchen table, wondering what to say if Dean asks him the reason for the sudden dinner-and-movie-night.

He’s still at the kitchen table when Dean returns from his grocery run. When Dean walks into the kitchen, grocery bags in hand, and sees all the food laid out on the table, he stops dead, eyebrows raised.

“Whoa – is it date night?” he asks teasingly, shooting Sam a huge grin.

Sam makes a face at him, trying to ignore the flush of heat at Dean’s words, and the torrent of accompanying mental images. “Very funny, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes light up when he spots the pie. “You got me _pie_!” he exclaims, practically vibrating with glee. “Ohh, _Sammy_. For that, you might even get lucky tonight.” He bats his stupidly long eyelashes theatrically at Sam.

At _that_ , Sam _really_ can’t help the rush of heat to his cheeks, because Dean might only be joking, but Sam’s brain has had the concepts of _Dean_ and _love_ and _want_ and _mine_ all tangled up for pretty much forever, so – shit, Dean’s looking at him oddly, since Sam’s face probably looks like a tomato right now.

“Idiot,” he mutters, hastily snatching the groceries from Dean and turning away to put the cans on the kitchen shelves and the milk in the fridge. He can feel Dean’s eyes boring into his back.

By the time Sam finishes putting all the groceries away, gets his blush under control and turns back to the kitchen table, Dean’s seated himself on one of the chairs and is busy staring dreamily at the pie. When Sam pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down, Dean hands him one of the burgers, beams happily at him and starts on his own burger. Sam grins back at him and takes a bite of the burger.

After dinner, they retire to the bedroom, where Dean exclaims happily over Sam’s choice of movie, then spends the next hour and a half snuggled under the blankets with Sam, cackling gleefully at every single horror movie stereotype playing out on Sam’s laptop screen.

Sam spends most of the movie – which he’s already watched with Dean multiple times across countless motel rooms spanning most of the country – sneaking glances at Dean, greedily drinking in the sight of his big brother when he’s enjoying himself, one arm tucked behind his head as he reclines on the pillows in a relaxed sprawl, the creases of laugh lines around his eyes. They’ve not had much reason to smile recently, so it hits Sam hard, at times like this, how achingly badly he wants this. Just him and Dean, at peace. _Happy_.

Dean catches him glancing over a couple of times, which is pretty damn embarrassing, but he doesn’t say anything, just grins warmly at Sam before turning back to the movie.

Sam’s genuinely sorry, when the movie ends, to have to ruin what’s been an amazing evening (he’s trying his level best to not think of it as a ‘date’, he really is, but Dean’s joking words from earlier have stuck, damn it) by telling Dean about the spells he’s put together.

Dean, as expected, is not happy about the plan. At all.

“So,” he says, jaw tight, when Sam’s finished his explanation. “You’re using yourself as some kinda…fucked up _voodoo doll?_ And you think I’d be _okay_ with that?”

“No – look, if the spell works like it should, I’ll be fine. I’ll act as a conduit for the spell – ”

“And if things go wrong?”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “Well…”

“That’s what I thought,” Dean growls. He storms out of the bedroom without another word.

***

That fight lasts for over a week.

The bunker may be big, but Sam’s never _not_ seen Dean for more than a few hours at a time. Now, Dean seems to always conveniently be where Sam _isn’t_. He leaves plates of the food that he cooks on the kitchen table where he knows Sam will find them, but other than that, Sam doesn’t see hide nor hair of his brother for the next few days.

Dean doesn’t even come back to their shared bedroom at night; presumably, he’s moved back to his old bedroom. Sam can’t even catch Dean for long enough to ask – he’s only caught glimpses of his brother for the past four days, as Dean leaves whatever room he’s in the moment Sam walks in. Dean won’t even look him in the eye.

Sam’s heart aches. For Dean, for himself, for what the two of them have lost because Sam won’t back down, not from this.

Sam has nightmares – visions – almost every night this week; he wakes up shaking, blindly reaching for his brother, only to find cold, empty sheets on the other side of the bed. He curls up on his side, shivering, and roughly scrubs the wetness from his eyes.

He keeps on collecting the items he needs for the spells and going over the incantations, because – because, to be brutally honest, he’s out of options. This, in his months of research, is the only thing he’s found that has even a remote chance of working against Chuck, and even if Dean’s mad at him…if the alternative is that there’s even a slim possibility he might end up murdering Dean, Sam’s willing to take this risk.

He won’t hurt Dean. He _won’t_.

Six days into their fight, Dean comes into the library, where Sam’s going over the incantations again. He takes all of Sam’s research materials without a word, then leaves.

Sam’s initially a little worried that Dean’s going to burn the whole stack of research – which, to be fair, he wouldn’t blame Dean for; if _Dean_ were the one who’d be casting the spell, Sam would’ve burnt the lot of it without a second thought – but then he eventually finds Dean holed up in a corner of the bunker frowning over the thick stack of papers, brow furrowed in concentration and lips moving slightly as he reads. He’s so busy looking over the research that he doesn’t even notice Sam’s presence.

Sam blinks, hard, and turns away, biting his lip. His chest feels tight.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, Dean comes into their bedroom (Sam still thinks of it as _theirs_ , even though Dean hasn’t slept there in a week) while Sam’s sitting on the bed thumbing half-heartedly through a novel, the TV on just to break the deafening silence, volume turned down low.

Dean sits down on the bed and looks at Sam.

“So,” he says gruffly. “You’re really set on doing this, huh.”

Sam bites his lip, takes a breath. “I think it’s the only real chance we’ve got,” he says slowly. “Dean – ”

Dean sighs. “I read that stuff you put together about the spells,” he says. “All of it. And, look, Sam – I trust you, but you gotta promise me, if at any time the spell starts going wrong, you _have_ to stop the whole thing. Okay?”

Sam reaches for Dean’s hand, gives it a tentative squeeze. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah.”

Dean looks at him, lips pursed. “I mean it,” he says, then looks down, staring hard at the bedsheets. “I can’t lose you, Sammy. Not again.”

There’s nothing Sam can say to that, so he just squeezes Dean’s hand harder, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Dean sighs heavily. “For the record, I still don’t like this,” he says. “So,” he continues after a pause, and he sounds like he’s only half-kidding, “no way I can talk you out of this and into killing me instead?”

Sam scowls at his brother. “Don’t even _joke_ about something like that, Dean. As if I could _ever_ – ”

“Not even,” Dean says, a wild look in his eyes, “if I do _this?_ ”

He abruptly reaches out and tugs Sam over. Caught by surprise, Sam sprawls into Dean’s lap with a grunt of surprise, then his eyes widen in shock as Dean leans down, takes Sam’s face in both hands and kisses him hard.

It takes Sam’s brain a couple of seconds to reboot, whole body frozen with shock, but then he’s grabbing at Dean, anywhere he can reach, licking eagerly into the wet heat of his brother’s mouth, tongue slipping slick over Dean’s.

Sam whines in protest when Dean breaks the kiss, drawing back slightly so he can stare searchingly at Sam.

“Alright, Sammy?” Dean asks, and he looks suddenly hesitant, almost shy.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam breathes, reaching for his brother again. “Fuck, _yes._ ”

Dean still looks torn between throwing himself at Sam again and bolting, so Sam makes the decision for him, wrapping one hand firmly around Dean’s wrist so he can’t make a run for it.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you,” he says to Dean.

“Say what?” Dean asks, frowning at Sam in puzzlement, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to bolt anymore.

“I’ve been in love with you for years, jerk,” – and his voice only shakes slightly as he says it, the secret he never thought he’d ever give voice to.

“Bitch,” Dean replies automatically, then stills and stares at Sam. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“You’re it for me, Dean,” Sam says, and the dawning hope on his brother’s face that Dean isn’t even bothering to hide emboldens him to add, playfully, “and you’re an idiot if you haven’t realized that by now.”

“Hey!” Dean says, lips curving up. “That’s no way to charm a man into your bed.”

“Actually, you’ve been in my bed for months now,” Sam informs him smugly.

“And you’ve done…absolutely nothing about it.” Dean raises a superior eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” Sam says. “I’m gonna fix that right now,” and uses the hand he has around Dean’s wrist to tug his brother close, until they’re nose-to-nose.

Dean smiles then, so genuinely, beautifully happy, and tilts his head so he can press his lips to Sam’s again. Sam eagerly meets him halfway, and they kiss and kiss until they’re both breathless, hands roaming everywhere like two teenagers discovering each other for the first time. And Sam’s seen pretty much every inch of Dean’s skin at some point in their lives, but never, ever like this; never been able to look at Dean with the eyes of a lover, never been able to touch him with the sole purpose of bringing him pleasure – and now that he’s finally allowed to, he can’t get enough of the taste of Dean’s skin, the feel of his brother’s muscled body under his fingertips.

They can barely take their hands and mouths off each other for long enough to get their clothes off, but they manage somehow. The condom and bottle of lube that Sam fumbles out from the bedside drawer get abandoned somewhere among the mess of sheets and pillows when Dean decides he’s more interested in grabbing Sam’s ass than letting Sam get the lube. Sam has absolutely no problem with this.

When Sam pulls Dean’s jeans down over his brother’s narrow hips only to discover that Dean’s apparently been walking around without underwear all day, the resulting rush of blood south leaves him light-headed.

“Jesus, Dean,” he groans. Dean’s cock is fucking perfect, fat and flushed pink, curving up gently toward his belly. Sam wastes no time in wrapping his hand around his brother’s cock, heavy and blood-hot in his hand. “Oh, _fuck,_ ” he adds, heartfelt, as Dean impatiently tugs Sam’s boxers down and gets his hands on Sam’s swollen cock.

“Yeah, yeah, Sam, c’mon,” Dean gasps, hips rocking up into Sam’s hand as they work each other’s cocks. When Sam shifts backward on the bed, moving further away from Dean, Dean’s whine of protest abruptly dissolves into a strangled moan as Sam bends over and replaces his hand with his mouth.

“Christ,” Dean pants as Sam laps hungrily around the head of his cock, tongue teasing over the slit, before ducking his head lower, taking as much of Dean as he can in his mouth. “Oh, god, Sammy.”

He sucks Dean hard and wet and sloppy until Dean’s hips are thrusting off the bed, fingers clenched in the sheet so hard his knuckles are white. His cock is heavy and hot in Sam’s mouth, the taste of his precome salty-bitter on the back of Sam’s tongue, and Sam has never wanted anyone this fucking bad in his life.

He’s got one hand on Dean’s balls, mouth stuffed full of Dean’s cock, so he doesn’t have much attention to spare to look for the lube; it takes a few minutes of blind groping around in the sheets with his unoccupied hand before he finds the bottle. He pops the cap off with his thumb and promptly spills what feels like half the bottle of lube all over his fingers. Sam can’t bring himself to care about the mess he’s made of the sheets, not when he’s got his beautiful big brother moaning and writhing beneath him, mouth open and full pink lips shiny-wet, muscled thighs flexing and taut stomach trembling under Sam’s ministrations.

He hollows his cheeks, sucking hard on Dean’s cock as he gently presses a finger into Dean’s hole, past the tight ring of muscle and into his brother’s impossibly tight velvety warmth. His cock throbs painfully and he can’t help the groan that escapes him at the thought of being buried inside the heat of Dean’s body. By the time he’s worked in a second finger, then a third, Dean’s balls are tight and heavy in his hand, and Sam knows his brother is close even before Dean sobs, “ _Sammy –_ ” and his cock pulses in Sam’s mouth, his come thick and bitter-hot on Sam’s tongue.

Dean lays still for a moment, chest heaving as he catches his breath, shivering as Sam withdraws his fingers and licks Dean’s oversensitized cock clean; then Dean’s grabbing at Sam’s shoulders and urging him upward, catching Sam’s mouth in a fierce kiss when Sam complies.

“Sam, Sam,” he murmurs in between kisses; wraps his legs around Sam so that Sam’s cock, hard and dripping, is nudging at his hole. “Fuck, need you so bad, baby, please.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam cups one hand over his brother’s jaw, kissing Dean slow and sweet and deep. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He gropes for the lube and condom again, hurriedly rolls the condom on and slicks his cock up then pushes slowly into Dean, groaning low and breathless as he’s wrapped in Dean’s perfect tight heat. When he’s fully inside Dean, he pauses to give his brother time to adjust, almost shaking with the effort it’s taking to not move until Dean’s ready.

“Sam,” Dean mumbles, heels digging into Sam’s back. “’m not made of glass, c’mon. _Move_ , goddammit.”

“Bossy,” Sam teases but obeys with alacrity, and it’s incredible how they _fit_ , moving together perfectly in sync, Sam buried to the hilt inside his brother as Dean moans and squirms under him, gorgeous golden skin slick with sweat, parted lips red and kiss-swollen.

Sam takes his time with Dean, leans down to kiss his brother sweet and dirty, fucks him slow and thorough until Dean’s cock starts to fill again. He wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, strokes him to full hardness; adjusts the angle of his thrusts until he finds the spot that makes Dean arch up against him, moaning loud and wanton and beautiful, his cock jerking in Sam’s grasp.

“ _Oh_ – fuck, Sammy, gonna – ” Dean manages before painting his stomach with streaks of pearly white, dripping over Sam’s hand where he’s still stroking Dean.

“God, Dean, _fuck,_ ” Sam pants. He’s so, so close. He releases Dean’s cock and raises his come-stained hand to drag his palm over his parted lips, tongue slipping out to taste Dean. Beneath him, Dean’s breath catches as Sam licks his hand clean, pupils blown so wide that there’s only the thinnest ring of green around them. “Oh, oh – Christ, that’s fucking hot. _Sam_. My Sammy.”

“ _Dean,_ ” he gasps, thrusts once more, and comes buried deep inside his brother, mouth filled with the taste of Dean.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam wakes slowly the next morning, yawning sleepily before rolling over to throw an arm over his brother – only to encounter empty space where he’d expected Dean to be, the sheets cold to the touch.

He sits up in bed, immediately wide awake; glances at the door, which is firmly shut. Fuck.

Sam runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. He’s wavering between convincing himself that Dean just went to get food or something, and panicking that Dean’s had second thoughts about last night and is trying to avoid him, when the bedroom door creaks open and his brother comes into the room. Dean’s balancing a handful of cutlery and two plates piled high with sausages and fluffy scrambled eggs on one arm. He uses his other hand to shut the door, then transfers one of the plates to his free hand.

“Rise’n shine, Sammy!” he says cheerfully. He comes over to the bed and hands Sam one of the two plates.

“Oh,” Sam says confusedly. “Um, thanks.” He takes the plate.

Dean squints at him, frowning. “Were you freaking out?” he demands.

“I wasn’t!” says Sam defensively.

“You totally were,” Dean says knowingly, and before Sam can say anything to defend himself ( _fine,_ maybe he was freaking out a _little_ ), Dean plops down on the bed next to him and leans in to brush his lips across Sam’s.

“Idiot,” he says gruffly. “Made you coffee,” and it’s only then that Sam realizes that there’s a cup of hot coffee on each of the two bedside tables, steam rising gently from the surface of the liquid. He’d been so panicked when he woke up that he hadn’t even registered the scent of fresh coffee in the room, much less noticed the cups.

Dean grunts in surprise as Sam eagerly drags him in for a longer, deeper kiss. Sam puts his plate on the bedside table, then takes Dean’s plate and puts it on the table as well. It’s a tight fit on his small bedside table, but he’ll make do.

“Breakfast’ll get cold,” Dean protests halfheartedly, but he’s already unbuttoning his shirt, corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk, so he clearly isn’t _that_ bothered by the prospect of the food getting cold.

Sam grins and tugs Dean down.

***

After they eventually finish breakfast, while Sam washes the dishes, Dean disappears briefly to his old bedroom and comes back to the kitchen with the stack of research that Sam’d put together and the twisted heap of metal that used to be the gun they used against Chuck. He puts the pile of papers on the kitchen table, contemplates the scrap metal thoughtfully, then uses it as a paperweight, dumping it on top of the research. When Sam’s done with the dishes, Dean beckons him over.

“If you’re really set on doing this whole spell thing,” he says firmly, “then we’re gonna test every part of it that we _can_ test before you do it.”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly. “But we can’t do anything that might warn Chuck about what we’re planning.”

“’Course,” Dean says, rolling his eyes at Sam. “I’m not an idiot. So. Three parts to the spell, right?” He counts off on his fingers. “Number one, the blood magic that links the two parties. We don’t have to do anything with that spell, since,” – face darkening, he reaches out to brush his hand protectively over Sam’s reciprocal bullet wound from Chuck – “you and that asshole are already linked.”

“Well, we won’t be for much longer,” Sam reassures his brother, trying to sound confident. Dean looks at him searchingly for a long moment, then nods slowly.

“Number two,” Dean says, holding up a second finger. “The extraction spell. You’re gonna use whatever Chuck-killing mojo the gun had,” he taps his finger against the lump of metal on top of Sam’s research, “and number three, zap Chuck with it through the link you have with him. Yeah?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” Sam says, grinning at his brother’s succinct summary. “Piece of cake.” He holds up a hand, palm facing in with his fingers clenched into a fist.

Dean snorts but bumps Sam’s knuckles with his own anyway, mouth curving in a reluctant grin.

“Okay,” he says, growing serious. “So we’re definitely testing the extraction spell – there’s a crapload of cursed items you’ve already catalogued from the bunker’s storerooms, so we can use those.”

“Oh,” says Sam. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Yeah, that’s – that’s a good idea.”

“We’ll start with _non_ -lethal curses,” Dean adds pointedly. “And if those work, we’ll try something stronger. Oh, and since we can’t test whatever spell you get out of those cursed items on Chuck, I’ll find something you _can_ test them on.”

“Huh?” says Sam, confused, but Dean waves off his questions and send Sam to pick out a few cursed items from the ones they’ve catalogued. Meanwhile, Dean takes the Impala and drives off to god knows where, promising to be back in a couple of hours.

Sam heads to the storage room where they’ve been keeping the cursed items that they’ve found so far. He sits down cross-legged on the dusty floor, gingerly pulls out the first box of items from the shelf, and starts sorting through them.

By the time Dean returns, he’s found three cursed items they could potentially use and set them aside. Hearing Dean’s footsteps behind him, he turns to tell his brother about what he’s found, but the words die in his throat.

Dean’s carrying a large metal cage in one hand, in which there’s some kind of medium-sized furry animal, a…raccoon? Sam frowns, completely confused. “Dean, what – ”

“Found something for you to cast your spells on,” Dean says. He puts the cage on the floor. “Bought it off a farmer just outside town, got caught in one of his traps. He was gonna call Animal Control to get it removed.”

“Uh,” Sam says nervously, then stares at the raccoon, which is gnawing ferociously on one of the bars of the cage. He’s not sure how comfortable he feels about casting a curse on – then, presumably, eventually killing – a defenseless animal, even if said animal _is_ considered nuisance wildlife. He looks up at Dean pleadingly.

Dean’s expression softens minutely, and he doesn’t even make any of the jokes that Sam half-expects about Sam being a girl.

“It’s a pest, Sam,” he says, voice low, and his expression is serious, no mockery in his gentle tone. “Animal Control would put it down anyway.” And more than Dean’s words, it’s obscurely comforting that his brother knew what Sam was thinking without Sam even having to say a word.

“Besides,” Dean continues before Sam has a chance to reply, “we’re putting your life on the line here, Sam. You gotta know there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go ahead with this unless we test it first.”

And, well, fine – he and Dean have done way, _way_ worse things than this in the name of saving each other. Sam supposes they’re kind of screwed up about each other that way. And there are many things he regrets, but the things he’s done for Dean? If he had to, he’d do them all again without a second thought, and more besides.

They end up using a non-lethal sleeping curse for their first test, because if Sam’s going to have to test this on a live animal, he’s at least going to use a non-violent curse. It turns out to be something of an anticlimax – he burns the herbs that they lay in a circle around the cursed doll they got from the bunker’s storeroom, says the incantation, and the raccoon just kind of…lies down suddenly in the cage and goes still, except for the slight movements where it’s still breathing.

“Okay,” Sam says doubtfully, then is promptly overcome by a wave of exhaustion. He staggers slightly, catching himself with a hand against the wall. Dean, who was watching narrowly from the other side of the table, is instantly by his side, one hand on his elbow.

“Sammy?” Dean says, peering worriedly up at him.

“I’m good,” Sam assures him. “Bit tired, is all. The spell took more out of me than I expected.”

Dean, overprotective as always, makes Sam lie down for a couple of hours before they try a lethal curse on the raccoon. Sam’s grateful for it in the end; the lethal curse, while it does work, makes him even more exhausted and he almost passes out right after casting it.

“Shit,” he mutters to Dean, listing against his brother as Dean takes most of his weight, hands warm and strong around Sam and a worried frown creasing his brow. “Gotta tweak the spell. Took a lot outta me, and it’s gonna be worse with Chuck ‘cause he’ll fight back – need to do more research…” He stumbles woozily as Dean helps him back to their bedroom.

“Yeah, okay, take it easy, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean says, settling Sam gently on the bed. “Afternoon nap first, research later.”

“Hm,” Sam mumbles. His head is killing him. He whines a protest as Dean withdraws, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Stay with me?”

“Not going anywhere,” Dean says, slipping into bed behind Sam, draping an arm over him as Sam slips into unconsciousness.

[tbc]


End file.
